


the light is ours to see

by Kirta



Series: my dreams are not unlike yours [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: F/M, Gen, and runs up to the very end of the rise of isengard expansion, it takes nona and horn awhile but they got their shit together now, people who are not dead continue be not dead and also relevant, picks up right after 'the prince of rohan' and 'troubled dreams', the working title was 'awkward family road trip in rohan', with your roadtrip with nona to lorien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirta/pseuds/Kirta
Summary: Leaving the Grey Company behind, you travel into Rohan with Nona, Corudan, and Horn.if the first part of vol3 is 'how many ways can the ranger road trip go wrong' this one is 'how many ents can we find and agitate into breaking something'
Relationships: Nona (Lord of the Rings Online)/Horn (Lord of the Rings Online)
Series: my dreams are not unlike yours [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562503
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [title note i probably should have added earlier- borrowed from 'other worlds than these' by starset]

Nona seems truly intent on becoming her brother’s ghost. When you finally track her down within the Gap of Rohan, she laughs and embraces you. After Grimbold, you are wary of her reaction to the dream, but as it so concerns her you have little choice but to tell her all of it. You are grateful that she agrees readily to travel with you, and on the road she asks many questions about the dream and about Lórien. Her conversation does much to help you understand what you saw, much more than Grimbold’s. Nona is angry on your behalf when she at last pries the full account of your departure from the Rohirrim from you, and it is good to be reminded that someone cares. You had been a useful soldier to the horse-lords but a friend to only a few, and though you do not blame them neither do you thank them for it.

Lhanuch feels strange without the Grey Company’s comings and goings, and you are glad you do not stay long. 

You do not find answers enough for your taste in the Golden Wood. You take Nona’s hand and guide her along the secret paths, and when you are brought before the Lady Galadriel you find more than one surprise. The summons in your dream did not come from her. Gandalf lives, though changed. His presence is too much like Saruman’s now, and it raises every warning in your mind. Nona senses your unease and draws closer, her hand near enough Wadu’s sword to draw in a breath but not so close as to be mistaken for a threat. If Nona sees it, you have little doubt that Galadriel and Gandalf both have read you with ease. They do not comment on it, but perhaps it is simply because there is far too much to do in far too little time. Soon you are riding again along the Anduin. You find you have nearly as little patience for the distrust the Men of Rohan hold for Nona as Nona herself. You have no time for it- one of the Nine is here and you must find it and they would rather bicker over a sword.

The Nazgûl is as cold as you remember. It has been months since last you faced them in Dol Guldúr, and as far as you are aware Nona never has. Their cold is of a different quality than that of a winter night or the ice of Forochel, bone-deep and painful in such a way that you think you might never know warmth again and never are you blessed with the mercy of numbness. The Khundolar are a distraction you do not need this night. You drive them off, but you drift too far from Nona and she nearly pays for it with her life. 

You can mend flesh, but there is something else about Nona’s wound. You fear that it was given by the Nazgûl’s blade, but even if it was not there is some dark poison in it that is far beyond anything your rune-craft can cast out. The men of Stangard- all save one- turn Nona away and you make haste back to Lórien. You fear for Nona. You fear for the Fellowship, whose path becomes ever more treacherous. You fear still for the Grey Company. It is nearly too much, and though Lórien is peaceful and well-protected, the quiet gives you far too much time to think on all of your friends in peril. You are anxious to leave, and you think Galadriel is anxious to have you gone on your quest. Preparations are made and when Nona insists she is well enough to travel, you set out with her and with Corudan.

Corudan is unlike Sigileth in so many ways that you would never have guessed them to be siblings had you not been told. Still, once you look long and close enough, you can see their similarities. They have the same half-smile that they show when they have not yet been driven to loud laughter, and when Corudan draws his dagger against disturbances in the undergrowth, you see he holds it in the same grip Sigileth used in the Drownholt. Indeed, you recognize the craftsmanship of his dagger from Egnassigil and Lanchigil.

Days on the river in the Lórien-boat with little to do but watch the shores make for long conversation. Nona is prickly but Corudan is curious, and the Dunlending lands are far more mysterious to him than the shadows of Mirkwood and so she bears the brunt of his inquiries. It takes several days, but in time Nona answers his questions freely and asks many of her own. Neither seems quite certain what to make of the other, though after the hunt for Corudan’s bow in Thinglad, they settle on something like friends. 

Stangard is in worse shape than it had been when you left with Nona. There is something wrong in the heart of the city, but you have little welcome here anymore and little will or time to direct to solving their problems. You are glad to take Horn away from a place that clearly no longer wants him, though you regret the whole sorry situation when you see how miserable it makes him. Nona voices similar sentiments- though much more loudly- and gives Horn her heartfelt thanks for his actions on her behalf in the same breath. You hope they will become better friends once given the opportunity. They are both good people, and there is already hatred enough between the clans of Dunland and the Rohirrim.

The boat feels far too small the next few days.

Both Horn and Nona are proud to the point of stubbornness. Nona is quick to take offense and slow to give or accept apologies, and Horn maintains that their people are hereditary enemies- the two of them can be allies of convenience at best.

“Your people who cast you out because you would not leave me to die?” Nona says scornfully. Horn looks away.

You ask about Stangard then, more curious now than angry. Horn sighs and tells you of Stanric and Sithric and the city slowly starving. It reeks of Saruman’s work to you- the Wizard has far too many spies and far too much trust from the people of Rohan. It takes a long time for you to admit that had you not been told of Saruman’s treachery in advance, you likely would have trusted him yourself until you found yourself his prisoner. You regret your hasty retreat from the city, but you are now several days downriver and you doubt they would have welcomed your meddling anyway.

You speak of many things on the journey. You and Corudan both speak of Sigileth and Nona asks for tales of her deeds. You know only what you learned with the Hidden Guard but Corudan has known her all his life and has many stories. Your travels in recent years have made it so that you do not lack for stories of your own and you share them on the water and around the fire. Nona is no storyteller, but she knows the history of her family and of Lhanuch quite well. Horn’s tales are of the Rohirrim, and he quickly realizes how many of them are of battles with the Dunlendings. Nona all but dares him to tell them, chin forward and eyes bright. When Horn at last tells his own story, of the verse that saw him exiled from Edoras to Stangard in the first place, Nona’s laughter is loud- and directed at those who could not stand to hear the truth or to challenge Horn directly, resorting instead to sending him away. It takes several more days, but Nona eventually convinces Horn to recite the offending verse for you, and you can understand why Gríma Wormtongue was angered enough to exile Horn.

It isn’t until Nona asks about the fate of the Grey Company that you realize you have not thought of them more than in passing in many days. You have told Nona little of what happened between your parting at the edge of the Gravenwood and your reunion in the Gap, and Horn and Corudan know even less than her. They are all silent as you recount the treachery of the Hebog-lûth and your time in the Ring of Isengard. You find that the pain of it is less, now. Lothrandir is the exception- it burns you to know that he is still imprisoned while the Grey Company rides south without him. Heavy silence falls on your little campsite and you think- far too late- that this was perhaps not the best fireside story. Some of the hurt may have faded but it is still raw and some of that must have shown in the telling. Horn offers words of comfort and Nona rests a hand on your arm. After a moment you apologize, though for what you aren’t sure. For darkening the mood, perhaps, or for clinging to things you cannot change. You leave the camp and stand alone in the starlight, watching the Anduin.

You entertain the possibility of a rescue. Nona would go with you if you decided to go after Lothrandir. Horn, too, you think would follow, if only because he lacks any other direction. Corudan you are less certain of, but you know it would be more likely if the other two both agreed first. Like the rest of the Grey Company, though, you have another mission, and some things are more important than the life of one man, no matter how dear.

Quiet laughter drifts from the fire and you think, _But what can be more important than a friend?_ It is only by those you have befriended that you have accomplished anything. By the ties of the heart will this war be won, or else not at all. You return to the fire.

They do not ask about the Grey Company or Isengard again, but you begin to share more stories from your time with the rangers in the evenings. You can see more clearly now, away from the urgency and dread that had hung over the Grey Company since they first set out and from the war-time grimness of the Rohirrim. You were lonely among the Rohirrim, though you were busy enough and with them short enough a time that you did not notice with your waking mind. You care still for the Dúnedain, but it has done you good to be reminded that you have friends elsewhere in the world. Isengard changed something in you, but you think you are finding a new balance. Staying with the Grey Company would have meant a constant reminder of all that had gone wrong and the wounds would never have healed. However much you love them, you are your own person and no Man of the West in any sense of the word _dúnadan_ , and both you and they know this. You are beginning to understand why Golodir found peace only after leaving Angmar behind.

It is exhausting to keep secrets from those you consider your friends, but you know that the only chance the Fellowship has is in the secrecy of their mission, the same as the Grey Company. Corudan knows of the Fellowship and their burden but relatively little of the Grey Company. Nona knows of the Company’s mission bearing them south, but you do not know if she ever learned the full story- and if she did not, it is not your place to tell her, you think. She knows you seek your friends on an errand of great import but she knows not what they carry. Horn has guessed some of the same, but knows only what you have told him of the Grey Company. It is difficult to keep straight sometimes and you know you have slipped more than once, but you cannot be more open when these secrets could mean life or death for any one of your friends. Too many duties in this world, and too many loyalties that overlap.

An eastern wind chills the nights as you draw near the Argonath. You huddle around the fire and Nona moves close to you when you sleep. She has done this before, when the mountain winds screamed across the moors. She never says anything about it, but she does it with a casual ease that makes you think this is normal for her. You don’t complain for your part- you never have liked the cold. One night you wake to find Nona pressed against you on one side and Horn on the other. Both are reaching for the other, and were you not trapped between them you would laugh at them. As it is, they are both just a bit _too_ close and their breaths are hot against your skin. Corudan stands watch, and he does laugh when he sees you. No matter the looks you send his way- threatening, pleading, pained- he only laughs and drapes a spare blanket across the three of you. 

They are both embarrassed come morning, Horn more so than Nona. They snap at each other more than usual for the rest of the day, and you feel no regret in leaving Corudan alone with them while you make for Parth Galen.

The story you read on the lawn is not a happy one and you are grim when you return. The Fellowship is splintered, that much is clear. Two of the hobbits crossed Nen Hithoel and the tracks of the other two you lose amid the trample of uruk bootprints. You hope desperately that Frodo was one of the two to cross the lake, because the other option would leave him dead or captured by the forces of Isengard, and that would spell the ruin of Middle-earth. Corudan looks for himself once you tell him what you saw, and his greater experience in reading the land reveals three others following after the uruk-hai on foot. An elf, a dwarf, and a Man. Such a company could only be the other portion of the Fellowship. You never had the chance to grow close to most of them between their own travels and yours, but they are still friends. There is an uruk dying in a glade and you pull a story out of him bit by bit. You know the uruk lies at least once, thanks to Corudan, but still the account fills you with dread. Four hobbits set out with the Fellowship- two now are fled and two taken. Gandalf has been long since separated from them. An elf, a dwarf, and two Men- but only one of the Men followed the uruks. There must be some truth at least to this one’s words, but you cannot tell if it was Aragorn or Boromir who fell here. They are several days ahead of you already, and you will need horses if you ever hope to catch them up. You miss Lakewind, safely stabled in Lórien when you took to the river.

It takes far longer than you think you can afford to secure Rohirric warhorses, and to accustom yourself to the new steeds. Valla is much larger than Lakewind and more headstrong besides, but once you coax her onto the open plains she runs almost without urging, needing only the slightest touch to alter her course. You do not think you have ever moved this fast in all your life, and you think you understand the Rohirrim a bit better.

For all Horn’s trepidation to enter a land where he is not welcome, he is by far the most comfortable of the four of you. He inspects your new horses and nods approval. You are grateful to him and Nona both for staying by your side despite the danger and lack of welcome they receive from the Rohirrim. Little word has spread yet from Stangard, but it is clear enough who has heard of Horn’s disgraced departure from the outpost. You make a point to thank them both when you make camp in a sheltered hollow in the plains as you ride.

It is very, very hard not to laugh at Corudan when he realizes his prized bow is in the hands of an inexperienced boy of Rohan. The race is ridiculous, but you have not yet tired of the novelty of Valla’s speed. You agree to the race, and so does Corudan, and you see Nona and Horn hiding their smiles at Corudan’s expense. You have since given up. You haven’t seen the elf so petulant before, but you can fully believe now that he grew up a brother. You can believe it very easily. You are not entirely sure what he will do should you lose the race. You have both given your word to abide by the result, but you see him eyeing the bow slung across Elfsige’s back speculatively, as if contemplating how difficult it would be to simply take it.

Even so, it is Corudan who leads the way to find Elfsige when you learn his horse arrived riderless in Elthengels. He hesitates when Elfsige holds the bow out to him, and for a moment you think he will relent and allow Elfsige to keep it, but he reclaims his bow and examines it with care. Elfisge is limping still and you offer your runestones, but he eyes them with open distrust. You sigh. Bows are one thing, but elf-magic like this is another thing entirely to the young Rohirrim. Corudan brings him back to Elthengels on the back of his horse and Elfsige disappears at the first opportunity. 

It isn’t long before the town is under attack by orcs. This is a familiar kind of chaos- you find your friends in the flames and they seem more at home now than the villagers who live here. Nona and Horn fight back-to-back before the mead hall and you catch a glimpse of Elfsige with a bow of elven make in hand facing down a dozen orcs at Corudan’s side. The orcs retreat and it takes too long to put the fires out, but fewer lives are lost than there might have been. You tend to the wounded that will allow it. The people thank you profusely and it makes you wonder how long it has been since they had proper defenders. There are far too few warriors in this town for the frequency of these attacks. Nona finds herself unusually welcome, particularly among the younger women, more eager now than ever to learn the ways of the blade. Elfisge’s face is troubled when you find him in the shadow of the tavern. The bow across his back you recognize as Corudan’s- his spare that he had used on the journey down the Anduin, not his newly recovered prize. Elfsige tells you he will remain in Elthengels for a time yet to help the people rebuild and perhaps to defend them. You aren’t sure why he is telling you, as if you have some power of judgement or permission over him, so you shrug and say little.

You listen to Thane Mildrith’s concerns and agree to ride to Cliving. You hope to be able to find news of the uruk-hai crossing the plains there in addition to news of Mildrith’s daughter. When you arrive, you are unsure what to make of Reeve Athelward. He seems regretful for Mildrith’s sorrows and he seeks to protect the people of Cliving, but he will not send his men farther afield to protect the southern holdings of the Norcrofts. You can’t decide if he refuses out of fear to leave his own seat undefended or if there is something more at work. He asks for Mildrith’s hand- and not for the first time it seems!- and you wonder again how much is politics or concern. You wonder, too, how much of your mistrust is caused by Mildrith’s, and you worry at your own inclination to suspect another. There is little enough unity among the enemies of the Shadow at a time when it is most needed and you should not be adding to the distrust. You don’t linger in either Cliving or Elthengels, though, and ride for Faldham soon after. 

You had no opportunity to speak with Elfhelm in the aftermath of the battle for the Ford of the Isen, but you can tell his son that he lives at the least. You help to train his men as best you can, though you think that Horn and Nona’s duel will linger in their minds far more than any advice you can offer them. You stand in the guard-tower and look east. You are taking too long. Many of these people have needed help, yes, but you are on the trail of the remnants of the Fellowship and with every day you delay entangling yourself in the affairs of Rohan the further away they slip. If the White Hand sigils borne by the orcs slaughtered near the Argonath are any clue, they are bound for Isengard. You know far better than most just what that could mean for the hobbits- or for those who would presume to rescue them. You do laugh to think that, despite your parting with the Grey Company, you may be nearer to Aragorn than they are now. Assuming, of course, that it was the Captain of Gondor and not the Dúnedain chieftain that had decorated that glade with so much blood. Either way, the tidings will be grim.


	2. Chapter 2

Horn’s face darkens the closer you draw to Eaworth but he will say little to any of you on the matter. The faces of those who recognize him range from sympathetic to shocked to disgusted. Horn takes a deep breath and holds himself upright as he leads you to the mead hall where his father holds court. Nona walks pointedly at his side, her shoulder nearly brushing his. Eaworth, like every other settlement you have passed in these reaches of Rohan, has seen battle. You see it in the grimness of the people, even the children, and in the weariness of the guards whose eyes are never still as they watch the plains and in too many burnt or empty homes. Horn tries not to show his dismay at the state of his home, but you have traveled with him long enough now to read him.

Reeve Ingbert’s “meagre” feast is not a pleasant affair. While Ingbert is cordial to his daughter and to you and Corudan, he is exactly as polite as the customs of hospitality demand to Nona and no more and outright ignores Horn. The meal winds down and you can feel more unpleasantness brewing. Corudan clearly feels it as well and thanks Ingbert, angling for a hasty departure for all of you. It nearly works, but Horn cannot hold his tongue forever and Nona not at all. Ingbert loses any pretense of civility for his exiled son and the Dunlending woman and the night nearly comes to blows. Ingyth asks after Théodred and her father is quick to redirect the conversation. She turns to you for answers and you see a warning in the Reeve’s eyes and suspicion in Horn’s. You speak the truth: Théodred was wounded at the Ford but lives still. The table is cleared and Ingbert thanks you for keeping the truth of the prince’s death from his daughter for awhile yet. Your confusion is clear to see and it gives him pause.

“Had you not heard? But the wild woman said that you were at the Ford yourself- surely you must have known. The king’s son fell in battle and did not see the sun set that day.”

Something is wrong here. Théodred yet lived when you had left his Riders, a full day after the battle. You ponder the Reeve’s words and nearly miss Nona’s. Too late you hear the goodbye in her confusion and anger. She is gone, leaving behind her brother’s sword. You want to chase her down, unarmed on the plains crawling with orcs, but it is Horn of all people who stops you. She knows the rune you taught her, and she would be foolish indeed to leave unarmed and Nona is no fool.

You speak alone with Ingbert later. “My displeasure with Horn does not extend to you,” he says, as if he means it be a reassurance. It takes all of the discipline you have learned as a runekeeper to keep from lashing out against his harshness towards your friends. There are more pressing matters. The uruks and their pursuit that you yourself pursue have passed north. You are so close now. You agree to wait in Eaworth until the Third Marshal of the Riddermark returns, though truly you want little more than to leave on their trail that night.

However cold their father’s reception was, Ingyth and Ingmar at least seem pleased to see their brother. It’s good to see Horn smile, though he keeps turning as if to address Nona only to find her still gone. Ingyth and Ingmar have a family’s lack of boundaries and tease him relentlessly, Ingyth in particular. She says that she knew from the beginning of the feast that they were in love. She sees the same look in Ingmar’s eyes when he sees Tóla, and in her own when she sees herself in the mirror. Horn’s face is red but he does not protest his sister’s words.

You ask Ingbert how he learned of Théodred’s death. Inquiring throughout Eaworth, you track the knowledge back to one person: Góda, the Reeve’s mother. You count the days and find that this knowledge appeared nearly too early to be believed, even with the most favorable winds and the swiftest raven. You consult with Horn and Corudan, and at Horn’s suggestion with Ingmar and Ingyth. You gather what evidence you may and confront Góda in the mead hall. Her betrayal shakes Eaworth to its core, but before you can do any more Éomer returns to the city with his Riders. You learn that it is Boromir of Gondor that you should mourn. Aragorn rides now with Legolas and Gimli.

Horn stays behind with his family while you ride north with Corudan to the remnants of the great bonfire, still smoking days later. What little you can make out of the tracks point you into Fangorn and so you go. Corudan is positively giddy to meet Baldbark the ent. You are far more interested in his tidings of the Fellowship, however intentionally or unintentionally he gives them. The hobbits are safe with Fangorn himself and the others with Gandalf. A worry so long your companion you no longer noted its presence leaves you, and for a time you and Corudan simply wander among the eaves of Fangorn and beyond. You are weeks too late to stop the devastation of Thornhope but not to avenge it and later you are witness to the slow-roused wrath of ancient things. It is easy to lose track of time under that green roof but eventually you return to Eaworth only to find it has weathered a siege by orcs of the White Hand in your absence. 

Horn holds you both in a tired embrace when he finds you. He says little that day and asks less, and you wonder how the battle went. Éomer has already ridden south to Snowbourn and the absence of his Riders was keenly felt in the attack. Ingbert appears to have thawed somewhat towards his son in the time you were away but the measure is relative only and Horn is still far from welcome in his father’s house. Eaworth is safe for the moment and so you follow after Éomer. Ingbert insists that you and Corudan at least are welcome in Eaworth for your aid but you refuse to stay where your friends are still unwelcome, and have other tasks besides.

Horn watches his home fall away behind you and that night you ask if he wishes he had stayed, despite everything. He shakes his head and says that home now is nights in camp with you and Corudan and Nona. You are sorry for the pain the loss of Eaworth as a home brings him, but your heart echoes his words. It has been years since you considered Mirkwood home and have found it instead around campfires and in the wilds and in battle with people you have come to love at your side. Home is Saeradan’s cabin and Nona’s warmth and the raucous cheer of the Iron Garrison’s tavern and at times like this you miss them all.

You catch up to Éomer at the Stone of Wyrgende, gazing upon the stone inscription in deep contemplation. “Many have given me their condolences for my cousin’s death and many others have said with equal certainty that he lives. Horn tells me that you fought beside Théodred at the Ford- do you know the truth?”

You wonder how far the rumors of Théodred’s death have spread if even Éomer is unsure. Eaworth was the first place you had heard tell of his death; what little time you passed in the Norcrofts was spent preparing for battle or riding. The untruth is even more prevalent in Snowbourn and yet Reeve Fastred still refuses to withdraw his people. Éomer shakes his head and bids you ride with him to Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. You go, because you are curious and because you have no immediate duty now that you have been assured that the Fellowship is as safe as can be. Gandalf also told you in no uncertain terms on Treebeard’s hill that your path lies apart from theirs for awhile yet.

Edoras is magnificent even by night. Many of the guards call out to Éomer as he passes and you can see that he is beloved by his people. You are firmly instructed to leave your weapons outside of the Golden Hall and just this once you are glad Nona is not here. The guards don’t look twice at your dagger but they are less certain how to deal with the satchel of carved stones you hand them. You smile at them and follow Éomer into the hall.

Gríma Wormtongue is easy to pick out from Acca’s descriptions. The dungeons of Isengard feel so far away now but there is something in Gríma’s voice that brings it all back, some faint undertone that puts you in mind of Saruman. You shiver in the warmth of the resplendent hall. You watch Horn’s mentor cast out by Gríma’s orders. Éomer’s righteous anger only plays into Gríma’s hands. He will be sealed away in the dungeons and helpless to oppose Saruman’s puppet. The Lady Éowyn says little but sees much. You hope she is able to do something here- you surely cannot, banished back across the Entwade so soon after crossing it. Wormtongue’s eyes see too much when they rest on you but you meet them and keep your face blank. Your dreams that night are troubled.

You return to Snowbourn to rest and consider what you will do next. The task set upon you by your dream is satisfied. You could perhaps rejoin the Grey Company, but you have no idea where they might be now. Horn is nearing despair, but he finds some hope in Corudan’s words, and so do you. “Tomorrow will be less bleak. We will face it together, will we not?”

You trip over Gléowine outside a tavern in Snowbourn and nearly in the same moment catch word of the lack of word from Wildermore in recent weeks. It seems you have little to decide when new crises throw themselves so willingly in your path. You take rooms above the tavern to await the return of Gléowine’s sobriety and to learn more of the situation to the north. It soon becomes clear that no one knows anything about the situation and that the silence is a great cause for concern. You retreat to your room to think on this new direction. You are not sure how long a time passes before there is a knock at the door.

You open the door and wonder if you fell asleep without noticing. You have not seen Baldgar since your hasty departure from Grimbold’s camp and you did not expect to cross paths with him so far from the Ford, much less alone. You glance behind him but there is no sign of Prince Théodred or of any other Rohirrim. There is the shape of a familiar shadow in the hallway but the light is too dim to make out details easily.

“Do you have any idea,” Baldgar asks with greatest exasperation, “just how difficult you are to find?” You step back to allow him entry and he continues. “It is easy enough to find where you have _been_ , since you make no secret of your presence and seem to have a need to solve every problem you come across. You would think, then, that finding you yourself would be nearly as simple. I certainly did when I set out. Weeks ago.” His arms are crossed and he is _huffy_. His companion follows him in and in the fuller light you recognize Braigiar, who for his own part looks quite smug.

“I did warn you,” he says to Baldgar, who only rolls his eyes. Braigiar smiles broadly and embraces you. You are too shocked at their appearance to form any of the questions that appear in your mind. Why are either of them here? Why are both of them here, and why together? Baldgar takes a letter from his pack and hands it to you. It is folded many times and sealed with Théodred's crest.

“You left us before my prince could thank you for your part in the battle at the Ford of the Isen,” Baldgar says. His tone is light but there is a seriousness in his eyes that throws you. “Théodred sends both his thanks and his apologies. He sent me to find you as soon as he was recovered enough to hear the report of the battle. I was to deliver you this letter- and to return this one to you." He jerks his head at Braigiar. "I am to offer you any aid it is within my power to give you." He watches you, expectant, but you are unsure how to respond. You have many questions, not the least of which being how Braigiar came to the Rohirrim in the first place. Baldgar's message has answered little, and you wonder if this letter will do much else. At last you nod deeply to Baldgar.

"My thanks, then, to you and your prince. I will read his letter and consider his words carefully." You tilt your head at the two Men. "But tell me, how exactly did you two come to be traveling companions?"

Their faces trade expressions quickly enough to be comical. Baldgar is now the smug one and Braigiar the one pained. They spend more time correcting one another than telling the story, meaning it takes twice as long as is necessary and more than once contradicts itself. The heart of it, as near as you can make out, is this: Braigiar entered the Rohirrim camp with the intent of delivering news and information gathered by the Grey Company to Théodred before rejoining his kin along their road south. He had been detained immediately on orders from Edoras newly received. He remained a prisoner in the camp for several days, guarded often by the son of a minor noble in the Golden Hall- petty in every sense of the word. Braigiar and Baldgar agree on their opinion of this man, at least. A man prone to drink, one night he drank too much and fell asleep on guard. Braigiar escaped- with Baldgar's help, he admits with grudging thanks- and met with Baldgar outside of the camp and together they set off to find you.

You laugh. You know not how else to react. The story is an amusing one, certainly, and knowing both Baldgar and Braigiar it is entirely believable. Much more than that, the appearance of two friends you had not thought to see again for some time is a welcome change from the past days of frustration. Baldgar returns to the tavern after securing a solemn oath from you that you would read the letter and not depart without him in the morning. You reassure him that your party intends to remain in Snowbourn for two more days at least and he goes, satisfied. Braigiar stays and you talk with him long into the night.

“After the battle at the Ford, I had a dream,” you say eventually. Braigiar’s easy smile fades. “Do you remember it?” He nods.

“Candaith was there as well. I recognized the camp when I was held by Théodred’s men.” He laughs. “What a ridiculous story it is. The Dúnedain are widely reputed to be far more canny than that! And to think that it was nearly Daervunn’s problem instead…”

You ask after the rest of the Grey Company then and Braigiar sighs. “Our paths are split once more. There are too many things that require our attention and too little time in which to attend them.” He tells you of the Company’s return to Tûr Morva- something you are glad you missed- and their attack that drove the Falcons into the caves. From the city of the Hebog-lûth Dagoras had been dispatched to keep watch on Nan Curunír and Braigiar to bring the Rohirrim word of all that the rangers had gathered about the clans of Dunland and Saruman’s other allies. The task had originally fallen to Daervunn, but Braigiar had gone in his place after one of the Falcon’s poisoned blades laid him low for two days. The last Braigiar had known, Saeradan was bound north with Radanir and the bodies of their fallen. Calenglad was in pursuit of the Huntsman and answers to the trembling of the ground. Golodir was consumed with thoughts of vengeance. Braigiar does not know what Golodir chose to do but he worries either way. The greater part of the surviving Grey Company was to continue south with Halbarad and the others were to rejoin them as they were able.

You trace the seal on Théodred’s letter as you listen, thinking. You have questions still unanswered and you ponder where to begin. Braigiar says he has no word of Lothrandir for good or ill when you ask. He knows nothing of your pursuit of Aragorn and the party of uruks until you tell him, and when he asks where his lord might be now you can only tell him ‘with Gandalf’. This, of course, only leads to more questions, since the Grey Pilgrim had been known to be dead when the Grey Company set out from Rivendell.

“Why did you agree to look for me with Baldgar?” you ask. “Why not rejoin Halbarad and the others?” Braigiar flinches and your curiosity becomes concern. “What happened?”

“Truthfully, I felt that I owed Baldgar and the prince for setting me free.” True, perhaps, but not the truth entire. “And I rather doubt the Grey Company would be any easier to find than you have been. Baldgar truly thought that finding you would be as simple as following from one city to the next until we caught up.” Braigiar laughs. “We lost your trail before we made it out of the Gap.” That is no surprise. You and Nona had made your way in greatest secrecy through Dunland to the Golden Wood and afterwards your path had lain along the Anduin. Baldgar and Braigiar would have heard little of you at all until you made your way into Rohan. You trade stories of your travels until your thoughts return to the dream. Braigiar falls silent when you bring it up again. 

There are consequences to Braigiar’s escape from Tûr Morva. The experience changed him in ways he does not yet understand. He loses himself too easily in places where the Dead roam, and his mind has more than once wandered in sleep, often towards his friends and often to those in distress. He admits that, whether they know it or not, few of the Grey Company have escaped his intrusions into their dreams. The sharpness of your dream had frightened him- from what he had seen, it was a sharpness unique to the sleep of the injured. You touch your shoulder and wonder at how else the battle at the Ford might have ended.

“The uruk that attacked you in the dream- who was he?” Braigiar’s face darkens as you recount in brief Morflak’s position in Isengard and his relation to you. You shake yourself and set Théodred’s letter, slightly crumpled now, on the table.

“I intend to ride to Wildermore with Horn, Corudan, and perhaps Gléowine before the week is out,” you say. “Your company would be welcome, always, but I understand that your oaths likely call you elsewhere.” Braigiar nods but gives you no answer that night.

You read Théodred’s letter by candlelight after Braigiar departs for the evening. It tells you little that you do not know already and is more personal in nature. He thanks you for fighting by his side at the Ford and apologizes for Grimbold’s hostility afterwards. He hopes Baldgar might help you for a time as thanks on both their parts. He does mention that the plan to free Braigiar and send him and Baldgar after you was conceived and orchestrated by Grimbold, who was suitably penitent after a firm telling-off from his prince, and it makes you smile. You fold the letter carefully and tuck it into your bag alongside the battered pauldron that you are in some part keeping for sentiment but in larger part just haven’t gotten around to removing quite yet.

You track down Gléowine’s map the next day and spend some time admiring it. It is large and finely detailed and painstakingly accurate and you wish you had one half as beautiful for your own travels. You introduce your friends to each other in the tavern that night and when you make ready to ride for Wildermore, Braigiar and Baldgar join you. You raise an eyebrow at Braigiar but he only shrugs and eyes your surroundings. It is early, but not so early that you are the only ones about. “I know not where the Company has gone and there is little point to trying to predict in which direction Mithrandir has pointed Strider. For the time being, then, I will ride with you.” And so he does. You wonder what Halbarad and the others will think became of Braigiar in the meantime. You wonder, too, what he isn't telling you. He is under no obligation but that of friendship to tell you anything, of course, but there is something he has been avoiding and you do not know if it is important. And you are curious.

Wildermore is cold. It puts you more in mind of the Nine than of Forochel and you pull your cloak closer around you as you ride for Scylfig. Like much of the rest of Rohan, Scylfig is ravaged by orc raids and the threat of starvation. Adding to their misery is the brutal, unnatural winter that has gripped the land. Reeve Gárwig is near despair but he has yet his pride and though he knows not how, he retains the will to fight, however dim. He has no faith that you can defeat Núrzum. Even Corudan is wary of the creature, but you will not back down until it is something less than a spectre of fear and ice. It is not that you disbelieve the survivors’ accounts and you certainly do not believe the thing is natural. It is instead that you have faced many such foes and until you have seen Núrzum for yourself you will not pass judgement on your own abilities.

You are, perhaps, overconfident with friends returned at your side. You are not aware either way.

Gléowine wishes to see the home of his youth and so you go, wondering if perhaps you will find more answers in Dunfast than you have here. Instead you find a deserted ruin- and a shrew. And Nona. You cannot say if she or Horn is more shocked- neither expected to see the other here. You are glad to see her alive and whole, but there is an edge to her that was absent when she traveled with you. She tells you of the fate of Byre Tor and vanishes into the snow before any of you can speak again.

You arrive to find the city frozen over and occupied by orcs. You sow chaos among them but they are far too entrenched for such a haphazard assault to do more than disorient them. It more than explains Nona’s haunted look.

Nona looks entirely unsurprised when you track down her cave in the mountains. She introduces you to the people she has taken it upon herself to protect and you catch both Corudan and Gléowine watching her thoughtfully. Horn watches her as well, but you are not sure there is much thought beyond his heart. You turn your runestones on the dying man, but though you heal his body you can do little for his mind. Braigiar avoids the man with a troubled face and takes care not to sleep at the same time.

It is a strange company that gathers to dine within the cave. Your company had been only Horn, Nona, and Corudan for long enough that her departure had left a hole in your ranks. Gléowine had not filled it when he joined you, nor had Baldgar and Braigiar. Gléowine speaks much with Horn but he also keeps company with the survivors of Byre Tor with a bard’s touch to the heart. Baldgar and Horn know each other by reputation and the journey from Snowbourn has been strange for them. Neither is sure how to act with the other. Nona and Braigiar are familiar with each other after the Grey Company’s time in Lhanuch and from your stories on the road. The survivors are still weak despite your ministrations and seem ill at ease with your party of newcomers, regardless of how favorably Nona speaks of you. Léodwig knows none of you and is still absent more often than not, despite everyone’s best efforts. Still, though, the fire is warm and bright even in this unnatural winter and you are glad to be with these people.

You are less certain, after the return to Byre Tor, that Núrzum is a foe you can face with so few resources. Lacking a better plan, you follow Corudan into the Balewood in search of an ent old enough to command an attack on the giant. Braigiar goes with you and seems more at ease away from the cave, though he says nothing of it. Baldgar remains behind with the survivors and with Horn and Nona. You think, when you return, that he might regret the choice. It is a very small cave and Horn and Nona still have not resolved things entirely.

Corudan believes that noise alone will be enough to stir Leaflock. You are less certain, but you are willing to try and you are very, very good at making noise. Lightning is not a thing to be wielded by the silent.

It doesn’t work. Neither does evidence of the White Hand, and you eye the mark with distaste as you throw the armor to the ground. 

“You use small names for big things, little one,” the old ent says. You laugh, because it is true and because you know better than most the power of words and of names. Braigiar tells Leaflock of Núrzum, a far better description than you would have been able to give. You wonder where he was standing to catch such details, especially with human senses.

Leaflock looks deep into Braigiar’s eyes and when the ent at last withdraws his fury shakes the earth. Braigiar is pale and you wonder how different it is to be the host rather than a guest in another’s memory. The idea is not one you care for at all and you put it out of your mind as you and Braigiar make your way back to Nona’s cave, Corudan lingering behind.

Later you watch a line of huorns march past the hidden entrance to Nona’s sanctuary and if they were perhaps not so close to you the scene might be comical- dozens of trees in a line on their way to battle. 

“Even now Leaflock and his herd have not retreated so far from Middle-earth as to abandon its people,” Corudan says. His smile is broad and more than a little awed. You are not sure you agree with him- it was not until the ent had known of the twisted merging of giant and huorn that he had been roused to action. His anger had been that of the righteous ending an abomination, not that of a protector. Still, you suppose it matters little. They march on Núrzum and it is all you could have asked of them.

One by one the cave empties and you watch the march of the huorns in silence. Horn and Nona stand together and you see that Horn has Wadu’s sword- he wears it as he would to battle, not simply carrying it for transport. Nona wears his sword. You are glad she has given up living for vengeance. Wadu’s Ghost is at rest now. The sun is setting and the first stars are out and you cling to this moment of peace in light on the snow. You do not know how long it can last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you _mean_ 'byre' in byre tor is pronounced like 'beer' and not like something that rhymes with 'pyre' or 'liar'???
> 
> hmmm i almost thought i was done having ranger-related feelings for awhile but then those interludes happened. i do feel rather vindicated that hotel saeradan is definitely a thing and that he and candaith were pretty close bc. i had kinda already decided that. but it's true! bonus
> 
> braigiar got to not die but now shit's just weird for him but he did have a very entertaining roadtrip with baldgar. it was mostly laughing at baldgar for thinking it was going to be at all simple tbh


End file.
